The Kama Sutra Aficionado

Once he completed his engineering degree, like many of his peers, Deepak prepared to go to America for graduate studies. His parents felt that if they let Deepak go to U.S.A. all by himself, he might be lured into a dangerous liaison by a beef-eating Christian girl. So they began the search for a suitable girl in and around Hyderabad. Since Deepak was dark, short, and puny, many prospective brides weren’t impressed. When it became crystal clear that the modern girls in the Hyderabad metro area weren’t keen on Deepak, a much wider net was cast, and a suitable girl was located in Kakinada, a small town in coastal Andhra Pradesh. The prim and proper Usha had beady eyes, bushy eyebrows, and fine hairs on her chin and upper lip and was obviously not in a position to reject Deepak.

Deepak bought tickets to New York City; from the Big Apple, they would take a bus to Binghamton, one of the campuses of State University of New York. During the long flight, Deepak guzzled beer, and ate chicken curry, rice, and vegetables. Usha drank water or orange juice, and sat glumly in her window seat. She refused to eat any solid food, not even a chocolate cake. She didn’t eat food cooked by non-Brahmins. Deepak wondered about his bride’s antediluvian views, but kept quiet.

When the lights were off in the airplane cabin, under the cover of a blanket Deepak tried to fondle Usha, and she pinched his hand. “Keep your hands to yourself. This is a public area.”

“But……nobody’s watching us. C’mon gimme a kiss.” And he put his hand on her crotch, hoping to arouse her.

She hissed. “Don’t touch me there! You pervert!”

They settled into a one bedroom apartment and began their life in America. In November, when the first snow fell, Deepak went outside to experience this novel phenomenon. The snow fell like cotton balls, white and fluffy. Usha refused to set foot out of the apartment during the winter months. She bumped up the thermostat, wore several layers of clothing and sat by the window to watch the snow.

Although they consummated their marriage in India, their sporadic couplings weren’t satisfactory as they were tired and busy with the ceremonies, and traveling between Kakinada and Hyderabad. Now, in the privacy of their own place, Deepak hoped to make leisurely love, and learn his bride’s erogenous zones and preferences. But, he was dismayed at Usha’s behavior during their brief close encounters. First of all, she had to have the bedroom completely dark. Next, he should be in bed and under covers. Then Usha, clad in her night gown—which covered her entire body, and her feet in woolen socks (she had cold feet), joined him. And then there were rules that had to be strictly adhered to. Never try to remove her night gown. Never try to kiss her deeply. A dry kiss on her chapped lips was permissible, but no tonguing and the rest of it. No wet kisses, period. No exotic positions, just stick to the good old missionary position. There were so many other rules that Deepak lost count. Making love to Usha was not spontaneous; it was scripted and stunted. Once he was spent, she pushed him away and went to sleep. Absolutely no post-coital nibbling or nuzzling.

One weekend, while he was arranging his books he found a copy of Kama Sutra, admired by connoisseurs of copulation. It was a wedding gift from a friend. He was amazed at the artistry, the colorful drawings of intertwined couples in unimaginable and intricate positions, enjoying sex as it was supposed to. There were big men and small women, small men and big women, some well-endowed and some puny, some fair and some dark. In order to enjoy great sex one needn’t be Aphrodite or Adonis. Deepak was thrilled to learn that even he, a short, puny guy could enter this romantic domain. He studied every page thoroughly, memorized each and every position, and learned the precise path to the pinnacle of pleasure. He was especially intrigued by one position wherein a naked man laid on the bed, ready for action, while his nude partner was suspended in midair with the help of ropes and pulleys, about to take the plunge. Deepak’s engineering brain rapidly calculated the various parameters—Usha’s weight, the height of the ceiling, the kind of pulleys he would need and the tensile strength of the ropes to not only hold her in place but also to gently lower her into his waiting lap. Oh! What ingenuity, he marveled. Those ancient dudes surely knew their way around the tricky parts. Sex was fun, not a chore. Sex was thrilling, not tedious. Sex was inspiring, not prosaic.

Now, all he had to do was to teach Usha all about the right way of making love. So, one evening after dinner, he gave the book to Usha, hoping to inspire her. To his surprise and consternation, she flew into a wild rage, “For God’s sake! What do you take me for, a whore? These are obscene pictures. Throw this book into the garbage bin. My God! What filth you read!” She ran into the bedroom and slammed the door shut.


About Rudy Ravindra

Rudy Ravindra attended the Iowa Writers’ Workshop (Summer 2012). His fiction has been published in Yellow Mama and The Story Shack. His work has been accepted for publication in Enhance, Southern Cross Review and Bewildering Stories. He lives with his wife in Wilmington, North Carolina.

>> Rudy Ravindra's author page

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